Finally a sunny day
After days of rain
A thought train
Ponders at bay
Someone exists
For everyone
Life is a fun
Hard to resist
Where is she?
My beloved
Lying in bed
alone- is no glee!
“The sun never sets
Ask the moon”
A pleasant afternoon
A pigeon jests
The pond reflects
The smiling sun
Son of a gun!
See the effect!
The patient wind
Listens to vehicular chaos
Like “riyaaz”
Rewinding in the mind
A clever crow
Eyes a baby pigeon
Stealing is religion
Life – borrowed.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Matheran- In Retrospect
Four years later I am traveling to Matheran. To scout locations for my short films. I woke up at 4 30 in the morning and got the 5 40 train to Churchgate. It was at around this time it suddenly flashed to me that I would be going to Matheran after a gap of four years. “She had cried then…over the phone!”- I remembered and found myself smiling.
Four years. And it seemed like a moment ago as is often the case with her memories. They never seem distant. There are times when I have to remind myself that I am living my life and not “her memory”.
She killed me. She resurrected me. She made me.
There are even times when I jokingly tell myself-“ Rajiv…you are nothing but a figment of her imagination!” As if one fine day, she would get amnesic and I would cease to exist. LOL!! But the human mind can play tricks as we all know by now.
The heart is the eternal prankster. Notches above rationality!
I catch the train from Dadar to Karjat[which incidentally starts with a S, I wonder why?] after buying a ticket to Nerul from Andheri which is where I had asked P to meet me and where I had a breakfast of “kheema pav” with hot tea in an Irani restaurant.
For that time being she did escape from my mind. A drunken friend of P was there too, at the restaurant and he was feeding his own ego.
Four years! In four years it seems nothing has changed. And yet everything has. I have finally grown up. Grown up …back into a child.
Somewhere in the pursuit of “success” I had lost the connectivity with myself. I was a mausoleum in the graveyard of ambition.
She had entered my life at its nadir. And then taught me to fly.
That hug, that kiss, those words of kindness had given me wings. And her final stroke of indifference had become the wind beneath those very wings.
“ If you open your heart you can touch the sky.”
At the station, we meet a man called Shinde who works as a cashier in a bank. He is, he tells us, traveling further than Nerul to a place called Khapoli.
“ Seven hours of my everyday is spend traveling to and fro between office and home. ”
He had been doing that for the past 10 years and had no plans to change the pattern as it would disturb his son’s academic career.
“ Ten more years…and then I retire.” He is in his fifties.
Sacrifice.
Sometimes I do wonder[ you must all be thinking that “wondering” is all that I do by now! LOL] whether she had sacrificed me for my own evolvement!
A woman is God.
The devil is a woman.
As the train stops at Nerul, I feel my cellphone in my pocket and wish it rings. Like it had four years ago. Then G had waited for me after we had hired a cab as I sat down on the platform bench to pacify my crying princess. He waited for twenty minutes.[Its another story what those twenty minutes did to his mind!]
“They” said she looked for me when she arrived at the editing studio.
“ How long does it take from Matheran to Mumbai?”- She had asked me when I did return. She was serious.
“ Two hours…two and a half hours…”
She had “hmmmmed”.
Four years later as I stand and walk on that platform, I can feel her tears in my smile.
Four years ago mobile signals were not that good in Matheran. I remember walking miles to tell her – “ you can now bake your cake!”
She wouldn’t get to eat it. The director had made sure of that. How an associate director could pull the rug from under the feet of a director is something I am still trying to analyze.
He blamed me for making it her film. He had asked me to be in charge of her and then how can I be punished for a job well done???
My professionalism was mistaken for my love.
She was my life. The film was “a work”.
As I click pictures of prospective location spots for my shoot, I sort of narrate the whole episode to P.
It had rained then. Now, there is a heavy downpour.
My work is my love.
She is there in all my work.
No mistakes there!
Four years later I am in Matheran.
It takes a longer time to reach than the two-two and a half hours I had told her.
Four years ago.
My phone has fallen silent. She has a new number.
The waterfall seems to be still. But the mountain across the valley is singing a song. And the clouds seem to be floating in the river. The rains smell of freshly roasted corns.
For the time being I am free from her memory. And I cease to exist.
Four years. And it seemed like a moment ago as is often the case with her memories. They never seem distant. There are times when I have to remind myself that I am living my life and not “her memory”.
She killed me. She resurrected me. She made me.
There are even times when I jokingly tell myself-“ Rajiv…you are nothing but a figment of her imagination!” As if one fine day, she would get amnesic and I would cease to exist. LOL!! But the human mind can play tricks as we all know by now.
The heart is the eternal prankster. Notches above rationality!
I catch the train from Dadar to Karjat[which incidentally starts with a S, I wonder why?] after buying a ticket to Nerul from Andheri which is where I had asked P to meet me and where I had a breakfast of “kheema pav” with hot tea in an Irani restaurant.
For that time being she did escape from my mind. A drunken friend of P was there too, at the restaurant and he was feeding his own ego.
Four years! In four years it seems nothing has changed. And yet everything has. I have finally grown up. Grown up …back into a child.
Somewhere in the pursuit of “success” I had lost the connectivity with myself. I was a mausoleum in the graveyard of ambition.
She had entered my life at its nadir. And then taught me to fly.
That hug, that kiss, those words of kindness had given me wings. And her final stroke of indifference had become the wind beneath those very wings.
“ If you open your heart you can touch the sky.”
At the station, we meet a man called Shinde who works as a cashier in a bank. He is, he tells us, traveling further than Nerul to a place called Khapoli.
“ Seven hours of my everyday is spend traveling to and fro between office and home. ”
He had been doing that for the past 10 years and had no plans to change the pattern as it would disturb his son’s academic career.
“ Ten more years…and then I retire.” He is in his fifties.
Sacrifice.
Sometimes I do wonder[ you must all be thinking that “wondering” is all that I do by now! LOL] whether she had sacrificed me for my own evolvement!
A woman is God.
The devil is a woman.
As the train stops at Nerul, I feel my cellphone in my pocket and wish it rings. Like it had four years ago. Then G had waited for me after we had hired a cab as I sat down on the platform bench to pacify my crying princess. He waited for twenty minutes.[Its another story what those twenty minutes did to his mind!]
“They” said she looked for me when she arrived at the editing studio.
“ How long does it take from Matheran to Mumbai?”- She had asked me when I did return. She was serious.
“ Two hours…two and a half hours…”
She had “hmmmmed”.
Four years later as I stand and walk on that platform, I can feel her tears in my smile.
Four years ago mobile signals were not that good in Matheran. I remember walking miles to tell her – “ you can now bake your cake!”
She wouldn’t get to eat it. The director had made sure of that. How an associate director could pull the rug from under the feet of a director is something I am still trying to analyze.
He blamed me for making it her film. He had asked me to be in charge of her and then how can I be punished for a job well done???
My professionalism was mistaken for my love.
She was my life. The film was “a work”.
As I click pictures of prospective location spots for my shoot, I sort of narrate the whole episode to P.
It had rained then. Now, there is a heavy downpour.
My work is my love.
She is there in all my work.
No mistakes there!
Four years later I am in Matheran.
It takes a longer time to reach than the two-two and a half hours I had told her.
Four years ago.
My phone has fallen silent. She has a new number.
The waterfall seems to be still. But the mountain across the valley is singing a song. And the clouds seem to be floating in the river. The rains smell of freshly roasted corns.
For the time being I am free from her memory. And I cease to exist.
Friday, July 9, 2010
My Birthday Wish
I would love to live in a world without languages. San words. In a world resonating with the silence of love. Where a mere glance, a smile would reveal a man’s true nature.
I would love to live in a world where the only road is the road that connects two human beings. Walking on their feet. Where vehicle horns are replaced with laughter. A world without flyovers and subways. No shortcuts.
A world without ideologies and philosophies. No government or bureaucracy. Where people can live and breathe as free individuals. I would love to live in a world where there is no expectancy other than to lead an honest life.
I would love to live in a world where there is no discrimination between the sexes. Or color. Where “we” the humans and “they” the animals can live in peaceful harmony.
In a world where there are no currencies. A world without banks and credit cards. ATM’s and debit cards. I would love to live in a world where I don’t have to prove my identity at every nook and corner. No passports. No PAN cards. Where when two people meet they can rub their noses and exchange kisses. And embrace without fear.
I would love to live in a world where no man feels lonely. Where one can accept a complete stranger as a gift of the moment.
I would love to live in a world where I can wake up every morning like a fresh dew and see the sun “rise” and every evening sing a lullaby like the waves of the ocean and cradle the “setting” sun. A world where flowers would love to bloom and woo us with its fragrance. A world where the flirting breeze can sweep us off our feet.
I would love to live in a world where I can call out to God and hear its echo deep in core of my own being.
I would love to live in a world where the only road is the road that connects two human beings. Walking on their feet. Where vehicle horns are replaced with laughter. A world without flyovers and subways. No shortcuts.
A world without ideologies and philosophies. No government or bureaucracy. Where people can live and breathe as free individuals. I would love to live in a world where there is no expectancy other than to lead an honest life.
I would love to live in a world where there is no discrimination between the sexes. Or color. Where “we” the humans and “they” the animals can live in peaceful harmony.
In a world where there are no currencies. A world without banks and credit cards. ATM’s and debit cards. I would love to live in a world where I don’t have to prove my identity at every nook and corner. No passports. No PAN cards. Where when two people meet they can rub their noses and exchange kisses. And embrace without fear.
I would love to live in a world where no man feels lonely. Where one can accept a complete stranger as a gift of the moment.
I would love to live in a world where I can wake up every morning like a fresh dew and see the sun “rise” and every evening sing a lullaby like the waves of the ocean and cradle the “setting” sun. A world where flowers would love to bloom and woo us with its fragrance. A world where the flirting breeze can sweep us off our feet.
I would love to live in a world where I can call out to God and hear its echo deep in core of my own being.
In Memory of a Fairytale
The soul is a circle
Within a circle
A mirror-reflects.
Suffering is an eternal fire to burn the body.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
For the glory of the soul.
A fairytale is the truth a child forgets
When he enters adulthood.
And then-
Truth becomes a fairytale
Always beyond the grasp
Ever wondered-“ Wasn’t it just yesterday that I could hold the entire sky in my little palm?”
The moon sheds its skin
A man his whole lifetime
To unveil the image.
A man is but
The God’s shadow
Illuminate! Illuminate! Illuminate!
Within a circle
A mirror-reflects.
Suffering is an eternal fire to burn the body.
Burn! Burn! Burn!
For the glory of the soul.
A fairytale is the truth a child forgets
When he enters adulthood.
And then-
Truth becomes a fairytale
Always beyond the grasp
Ever wondered-“ Wasn’t it just yesterday that I could hold the entire sky in my little palm?”
The moon sheds its skin
A man his whole lifetime
To unveil the image.
A man is but
The God’s shadow
Illuminate! Illuminate! Illuminate!
Monday, June 21, 2010
7 40 pm 18/06/10
O’ the drenched stars
Falling upon me from the heavens
“ I love my little princess…”
I whisper to the moon
who has taken shelter
in the warmth of my eyes.
MY WHISPER THUNDERS!
ECHOES
“ I love my little princess…I love m…y li..tt..le…pr..in.c…..”
and a trainof lightening ruuuuuuuuunsssssssss throooooooouugh my VEINS.
The earth around me has turned into an ocean of stars
And more stars fall upon those stars
Incessantly.
And as the ocean rises
I find a new depth within me
Farther
Than the horizon
And yet
I traverse the distance-
in a breath.
At the abode of the soul I meet her.
Falling upon me from the heavens
“ I love my little princess…”
I whisper to the moon
who has taken shelter
in the warmth of my eyes.
MY WHISPER THUNDERS!
ECHOES
“ I love my little princess…I love m…y li..tt..le…pr..in.c…..”
and a trainof lightening ruuuuuuuuunsssssssss throooooooouugh my VEINS.
The earth around me has turned into an ocean of stars
And more stars fall upon those stars
Incessantly.
And as the ocean rises
I find a new depth within me
Farther
Than the horizon
And yet
I traverse the distance-
in a breath.
At the abode of the soul I meet her.
A Pain in the Arse
Only a capitalist will condemn the Maoists. A communist understands the significance of the color red. They also know the value of blood whether their own or those of the innocents.
No revolution is possible without violence. Try bringing a change in yourself and you will know. There is no self realization too without a massacre!
My heart is with the Maoist. Whatever their philosophy might be, the history of mankind has been the history of survival. I have heard stories from my friend,G, about the negligence and the atrocities the people in these region[north-east] face from the Indian government and the Indian army. Let’s admit at least now that we have treated that part of India like a pariah. Or until now.
Now we realize the potential of this region what with all its natural resources! So now the government wants its piece of cake. But what about the people. A country is not merely about economics.
Its very easy to sit in one’s home in a metropolis and condemn them. What else can we do except that with our social impotency! How many people are we going to dislocate in our march towards consumer supremacy? Does anyone in the city care how many villages have to go without electricity so that our malls can be lit up?
Its so easy to condemn a loser. But trust me, finally the loser will take it all. For the next big war is going to be a war from within. Between the rich and the poor. And the poor has nothing to lose. Even their own death will be a gain.
Capitalism is the byproduct of Christianity. They both function with the same fundamentals. [Go figure that out.] A crucified Christ is nothing more than a good advertisement conceived by a scoundrel of an emperor called Constantine. He knew that the public loves a “sacrifice”.
We are still the same. There is no difference between the Romans who accepted the “sacrifice” of Christ and our condemnation of the Maoist killings. We condemn what we cannot justify.
Who the fuck are we? And what’s this whole bullshit about charity and kindness? Who are we fooling here but ourselves! I find more cruelty in the kindness that we practice than in those bullets that kill a traveler/bystander.
P S : A painful boil on my arse made me think about the insignificance of our inflated ego. We are as important as a worm in the architecture of this universe. Nothing more.
No revolution is possible without violence. Try bringing a change in yourself and you will know. There is no self realization too without a massacre!
My heart is with the Maoist. Whatever their philosophy might be, the history of mankind has been the history of survival. I have heard stories from my friend,G, about the negligence and the atrocities the people in these region[north-east] face from the Indian government and the Indian army. Let’s admit at least now that we have treated that part of India like a pariah. Or until now.
Now we realize the potential of this region what with all its natural resources! So now the government wants its piece of cake. But what about the people. A country is not merely about economics.
Its very easy to sit in one’s home in a metropolis and condemn them. What else can we do except that with our social impotency! How many people are we going to dislocate in our march towards consumer supremacy? Does anyone in the city care how many villages have to go without electricity so that our malls can be lit up?
Its so easy to condemn a loser. But trust me, finally the loser will take it all. For the next big war is going to be a war from within. Between the rich and the poor. And the poor has nothing to lose. Even their own death will be a gain.
Capitalism is the byproduct of Christianity. They both function with the same fundamentals. [Go figure that out.] A crucified Christ is nothing more than a good advertisement conceived by a scoundrel of an emperor called Constantine. He knew that the public loves a “sacrifice”.
We are still the same. There is no difference between the Romans who accepted the “sacrifice” of Christ and our condemnation of the Maoist killings. We condemn what we cannot justify.
Who the fuck are we? And what’s this whole bullshit about charity and kindness? Who are we fooling here but ourselves! I find more cruelty in the kindness that we practice than in those bullets that kill a traveler/bystander.
P S : A painful boil on my arse made me think about the insignificance of our inflated ego. We are as important as a worm in the architecture of this universe. Nothing more.
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